


Aegis

by Zoejoy24



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [3]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Torture, Violence, Whipping, Whump, passing out from pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: What starts out as a simple fact-finding mission for Malcolm and JT takes a sharp turn for the worse when someone from Malcolm's past outs him as an FBI agent, and JT is forced to make a terrible choice: blow his own cover, or stand by and watch as Malcolm is tortured.  Either way, neither of them are getting out alive if JT isn't able to find a way to call for backup.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610707
Comments: 78
Kudos: 271
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for whumpybliss on tumblr who requested Whiping, Passing out From Pain (malcolm whumped while JT watches), and bedside vigil.
> 
> Tags will be updated when new chapters are posted.
> 
> Thanks for the prompt! This was a lot of fun to write.

“Tell me again how I got stuck going on this wild goose chase with you?” JT grumbled as he and Bright drove through the crowded New York City streets. 

“Because I needed an enforcer and Dani was busy,” Bright replied absently. 

JT grunted, adding a muttered “We shouldn’t even be on this case.” 

Bright heard, but didn’t reply, even though he agreed. 

Missing persons weren’t usually their thing. But someone higher up the food chain than Gil had decided that this time, it was. There’d been an increasing number of complaints made about an up and coming organization called Aegis coming into the NYPD in recent months. The complaints ranged from kidnapping to blackmail to human trafficking, and many of the complaints were now coming from wealthy and influential families throughout the city. Somehow, through thinly veiled threats and favors called in, their team had ended up with the case. 

After looking into Aegis Bright understood the complaints. It was a secretive organization. The few people who talked about it openly were fanatical, and the information that was publicly available about Aegis made it out to be the true path to ultimate happiness and satisfaction, while staying vague and open ended about the process of getting there. 

So far he, JT and Dani hadn’t had much luck finding evidence to substantiate any of the accusations brought against Aegis. They had no grounds on which to request a warrant and Aegis had made it clear in the past that they would not cooperate with law enforcement in any way without one. 

Finally, though, they’d caught a break. 

Aegis was hosting an informational open house at their private retreat center just outside the city. Bright had insisted on attending. The event was open to the public and it was the first chance they had to interact with anyone from the group or even set foot on Aegis property without resorting to trespassing or harassment. Gil had reluctantly agreed, but had insisted that JT go to provide actual police support in case something happened. There were also teams on stand-by near the venue; Gil wasn’t willing to take any chances. Malcolm had drawn the line at wearing a wire, worried that there may be some sort of screening process in place for just such a thing. 

Upon arrival all visitors were directed to a large, conference-like hall that was skillfully arranged and decorated to be comfortable and inviting despite its size. JT and Malcolm walked in separately, keeping an eye on each other but never interacting. There were current Aegis members circulating throughout with pamphlets and snacks. Malcolm attempted to start up a conversation with some of them, but they seemed well trained in the art of avoidance and of smiling blankly before walking away. 

There were several TV’s throughout the space playing videos that showed a diverse group of eternally happy individuals living and working together in a serene community setting that reminded Bright of some sort of young person’s retirement village. Much like all the other information he’d come across, it was all very curated, vague on specifics and heavy on feel-good, self-improvement vibes. That was Aegis’s thing--members were guided by the organization into their best possible life, whatever that may look like. 

Judging by the number of members who held high-paying, influential jobs throughout not only the city and state, but the country, Bright guessed that it looked like a lot of shady financial interactions and a heavy dose of nepotism. 

After an hour or so of mingling the Aegis members began directing visitors towards two sets of doors which led into what looked like an auditorium. Malcolm watched as JT walked in, managing to make eye contact with him inconspicuously across the crowd while continuing to chat with another visitor. Malcolm began to make his way into the room as well when his path was blocked by two large men wearing black shirts embroidered with the word SECURITY. 

“Sir, would you come with us for a moment?” one of them asked, gesturing to the right. 

Malcolm tilted his head, looking between them in confusion. “I’m sorry, what’s this about?” 

“Our head of security would like to have a word with you. Please, this way,” the man replied, gesturing once more while also dropping a heavy hand onto Malcolm’s shoulder and giving him a firm nudge. 

Malcolm glanced towards the auditorium doors and saw that they’d been closed, with JT inside. Whatever this was, he was going to have to handle on his own. 

“Yeah, sure. I think there must be some misunderstanding, though,” Malcolm said as he followed the men down a short corridor and through an unmarked door. 

His heart rate began to increase as the door closed behind them. If or when JT even noticed he hadn’t made it into the auditorium, there’d be no way for him to know where Malcolm had gone. 

On the other side of the door was a small office space and another door across the room bearing a plaque that said Security Office. The guard whose hand was still on his shoulder opened the door and pushed him in, shutting the door behind him. 

Malcolm took a few faltering steps and then stopped, taking in the room. 

There were two men in the office already. Malcolm recognized one man as the head of Aegis, Carl Turner. He didn’t recognize the second man, but based on his build and the way he held himself, and the gun strapped to his belt, Malcolm guessed him to be Mr. Chase, head of Security. 

“Gentlemen,” Malcolm began with a guarded smile, spreading his hands in front of him, “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.” 

“Chase, really, this is your FBI agent?” Turner said, turning to Chase, eyebrow raised. 

Malcolm felt his smile slip, blood suddenly running cold. FBI agent? What? 

“I’m positive, Carl. I recognized him right away, from when I worked in D.C.” 

“Uh, sorry, excuse me,” Malcolm cut in, waving a hand slightly. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but did you say FBI?” 

Chase walked towards him. He wasn’t much taller than Malcolm, but he was built like a bulldog and clearly used to using his bulk to intimidate people. Malcolm refused to back down in the face of his approach, meeting his glare head on. 

“You might not remember me, Agent Bright, but I remember you. I know you’re FBI, and playing dumb will only make this more difficult. We’ve been getting a lot of heat from the NYPD lately, but I must say I wasn’t expecting the Feds.” 

Turner remained in the back of the room, leaning against a desk, arms crossed. His face was impassive but Bright could tell he wasn’t happy with the situation. He didn’t seem to be buying Chase’s story, but Bright suspected that denial would only make him look more guilty. 

“Look, I was FBI,” he admitted, letting his shoulders slump, his head drop. “But I got fired. They didn’t want me, and my life has been a mess ever since. So yes, you’re right, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I need help,” he explained, letting the pain and desperation he dealt with on a regular basis bleed into his voice as he talked. 

Turner seemed convinced. He was nodding, arms relaxing and falling to his sides. 

“Chase, I know this is your job, but--” 

“Carl, you’re right, this is my job. You pay me very well to protect Aegis from people like this guy, because I know my shit. Don’t let him fool you. You gotta trust me on this.” 

Turner sighed, running a hand over his face. “Fine. You know I’ll do what needs to be done to protect my organization.” 

“Look, this is absurd,” Malcolm exclaimed. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t have to put up with this. I’m leaving, alright? You don’t want me here, fine. I thought this place might help me but clearly I was wrong.” 

He turned to the door, reaching out for the handle. The unmistakable sound of a handgun cocking rang out from behind him and he froze. Damn. They were serious. 

“Agent Bright, if you open that door I’ll shoot you where you stand. Now turn around,” Chase ordered. 

Malcolm obeyed, eyeing the two men warily. He had no idea what to expect--whether they were planning on escorting him from the property, or burying him in the back. Malcolm had no idea how Chase knew who he was, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let this go. 

“Take off your jacket, throw it over here” Chase demanded. Malcolm pursed his lips, but complied, eyeing the gun Chase was holding steadily in his hand. “I’ll search that in a second, but first, turn around and face the door, hands behind your back.” 

Malcolm gritted his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief, but did as Chase said. If they planned on killing him they would have done it already. Best to play along. 

“You try anything funny, you’ll regret it,” Chase growled, suddenly close. 

Malcolm startled, but kept his hands in place at the small of his back. Chase slipped what felt like a zip tie over his wrists, tightening it with a strong jerk that nearly pulled Malcolm off balance and caused the thin, hard plastic to bite painfully into his wrists as he let out a low hiss of pain.

Chase grabbed his elbow and swung him around. 

“You wearing a wire, Bright?” 

“What? No, I told you-” 

“Yeah, I heard you, but I don't believe you.” 

Chase holstered his weapon and grabbed hold of Malcolm’s dress shirt with both hands, ripping it open. Malcolm flinched away from the sudden violence of the action but Chase didn’t let go, continuing to pull until his shirt was untucked and fully opened, his chest bared. 

“I told you, I’m not wearing a wire,” Malcolm bit out. “I’m not an agent anymore.” 

“And we’ve told you that we don’t believe you,” Turner replied, pushing himself up from the desk and coming to stand next to Chase.

“Aegis is  _ my _ organization. I built it and I control it. I’ve worked long and hard to make it a safe place for its members. So why don’t you just make things easier on yourself and tell us what we want to know?”

Malcolm glared at Turner but said nothing. 

“Where’s your phone?” Chase asked. 

Malcolm remained stubbornly silent. 

“Tell me where, or I’ll search you.  _ Thoroughly _ ,” Chase threatened. 

“Left front,” Malcolm bit out, tensing as Chase reached to grab it and pull it from his pocket. 

“I doubt he came alone,” Chase told Turner. “We need to flush out his partner. If he’s not wearing a wire, they’ll have set up some other form of communication. Until we know why they’re here and can take care of both of them, we need him alive.” 

Malcolm’s heart was racing. Chase was… good. He knew exactly how law enforcement operated, what to look for and protect against. It was a fluke that’d he’d recognized Bright, and he was still wrong about him being in the FBI, but aside from that he knew what he was doing. To speak so openly about killing two supposed federal agents in cold blood… It made Malcolm wonder how powerful Aegis truly was and what resources they had at their disposal. And, it scared him. He and JT were in over their heads, and JT had no idea. 

“You know, as inconvenient and expensive dealing with these types of situations can be, I’m looking forward to the opportunity to show our new members exactly how we deal with people who cause problems for the organization. It's good to be up front about expectations, set the bar high,” Turner said, circling Malcolm like a predator stalking weakened prey. 

“You think this puts you back in control? That  _ dealing with me _ makes you look powerful? ” Malcolm suggested, eyebrow raised. 

Turner scoffed, but didn’t deny it. He put up a good front publicly, but he was controlling, and probably sadistic. Charismatic but manipulative, as most cult leaders were. Turner made to leave, but paused next to Malcolm, leaning in close to whisper conspiratorially into his ear, “I don’t think so, I  _ know _ so. You’ll see soon enough.”

He and Chase shared a smile that was straight out of a horror movie, and Malcolm shuddered. 

*** 

JT caught sight of Bright right before he walked into the auditorium, but he couldn’t see where the profiler was sitting. The lights dimmed and a movie started playing on a large screen at the front of the room. 

JT watched the reactions of the people around him as it played. Most of them were buying the reach-your-full-potential message hook, line and sinker. It wasn’t his thing, but he could see how it would be convincing. Based off of the few conversations he had with other visitors, this place attracted people who were at their lowest points, desperate for anything that would help them turn their lives around. 

But, that sort of extreme life change took extreme commitment.

After the video ended a pretty young woman took the stage to tell her success story. She talked about how she’d been where they were, how she had nothing and no one until she found Aegis, how the Aegis program and community had changed her life. She told them that she understood their doubts. “I know it can be scary, to leave behind everything you know, to cut off all ties to who you once were and give yourself over to this process. But Aegis is a safe place. The program is hard, but it's worth it,” she assured them. 

JT scanned the crowd, looking for Bright once more, but he didn’t see him anywhere. He slipped out his phone carefully, checking for any missed messages or calls. There were none.  _ Dammit Bright _ , he thought to himself. If the kid was off following some lead on his own, JT was going to kill him. 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest. Our founder and leader, Carl Turner,” the woman on stage said, clapping. The rest of the crowd joined in her applause as a man in his late 40’s walked on stage, waving and smiling. He gave a short, heartfelt speech welcoming them and encouraging them to take a step of faith and commit to the Aegis community. 

“Aegis will provide you with everything you need for a better life. We don’t want any of you to feel like you need to leave here today if you don’t want to. With that being said, it is time to move onto the next stage. I know it seems fast, but complete commitment is the only way to succeed in this program, starting right now. Therefore, I must ask that any of you who do not wish to join our organization today leave, now. If you have any doubts, any hesitation, then go home. You are more than welcome to come back when you are ready.” 

JT watched as dozens of people stood and left, but none of them were Bright. He scanned the remaining visitors but didn’t see him. He huffed in frustration, unsure of what to do next. He suspected that if he left the room he would be immediately escorted off the property. But Bright wasn’t in the auditorium, either. He glanced at his phone once more. Nothing. He sent hurried text to Gil-- _ Something’s up. Stand-by. _

Two men appeared on stage carrying a tall object covered in a white sheet, and Turner grinned at them before turning back to the room at large. 

“Last call, friends. Once those doors close, there will be no going back.” 

Two or three more people left. JT stayed. This is a bad idea, he thought. The place was starting to give him the creeps and he had a feeling that getting out now was going to be difficult and potentially dangerous without calling for backup. 

The doors closed.  _ Too late. _

*** 

Malcolm stood in the middle of the office, shivering. The air in the room was cold on the bare skin of his chest. His fingers were numb, the circulation cut off by the zip tie cutting into his wrists. Turner had left nearly an hour ago and Chase was more or less ignoring him now. He’d searched Malcolm’s jacket and seemed disappointed when he hadn’t found anything incriminating. Finally, he spoke. 

“Listen, Bright. I know you’re trying to maintain this charade of innocence, but let me just tell you now, it will go better for you and your partner if you just tell us what we need to know. You have to know you’re not getting out of here by now, so why not save yourself some pain and just spill.” 

Malcolm shivered again, whether from the cold or fear he wasn’t sure. “You’d really kill two federal agents? On a hunch?” he asked incredulously, looking to get as much information out of Chase as he could. 

“We have ways of making sure things never get back to us. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to take steps to protect the organization from the law. This may be a more extreme case, but I’m not worried. You, however, should be. Why are you here? And who is your partner?” 

Malcolm shook his head and looked away. 

“I can be patient, Mr. Bright. Honestly, I’m saying this for your own good. Turner will probably be disappointed if you do talk, to be honest. He loves theatrics, making a statement. He’s looking forward to using you as a demonstration, I can tell. And if you think you’re going to wait it out till backup comes, don’t bother, they’re not coming. I’ve protected Aegis all this time and I won’t fail now.” 

Malcolm shuddered once more. He’d anticipated a certain level of fanaticism from the upper ranks of the organization, but this was more than he’d imagined. 

The door swung open and the two security guards from earlier entered. “Mr. Turner is ready for him, sir,” one said. 

“Time’s up,” Chase sighed. “Take him to the auditorium. Backstage, you know the drill.” 

“Yes sir, Mr. Chase,” the guard replied. He stepped forward and quickly pressed a strip of tape over Malcolm’s mouth, thwarting any hope he had of calling for help. 

The guards lead him back into the main hall--now deserted--to a long hallway running alongside the auditorium.  _ Backstage _ , Malcolm realized as they led him into the wings of the stage, stopping far enough back that no one in the auditorium could see them.

Turner was center stage, giving some sort of speech to whoever was sitting in the auditorium.

“I’m so glad you’ve all made the decision to join us on this journey,” he was saying. “It won’t always be easy, but it will be worth it. Now, in order to move forward, we must let go of the things that are holding us back. In order to fully facilitate this in your lives, we will now be collecting your cell phones. They will be returned to you once you’ve completed the program. Please hand them over. And I must warn you that anyone caught with a cell phone after this moment will be disciplined. It is important that each member of our organization adheres to all rules and regulations for the duration of the program. Thank you.” 

Malcolm was shaking harder, now, his breath coming in shallow pulls through his nose. He had no idea what Turner had planned, or where JT was now. He could only hope the cop had left after realizing Malcolm was missing and called for backup. If he was still in the auditorium, handing over his phone, they were both screwed. 

Turner glanced off stage, a small grin gracing his lips as he caught sight of Malcolm and his guards. He turned back to the crowd, schooling his face into a more somber expression as he spoke. 

“Speaking of discipline, I am saddened to say that there is an issue that must be addressed before we can move on. 

Trust and loyalty are the backbone of this program. Without them we can not be free to express our truest selves. When someone comes into this organization intending to break that trust, they must be dealt, sometimes harshly. We do this not out of anger or hate, but for the good of our organization as a whole. We do it for you, so that you know how highly we value trust, and loyalty. We have one such issue of discipline to address this afternoon, before we move forward.” 

Turner beckoned towards Malcolm, and the two guards pushed him forward. Malcolm resisted, twisting in their grasp, digging in his heels as best he could, trying to wrench himself free but their grips were sure as they led him on stage. 

Turner pulled a white sheet off an object standing front and center on the stage, revealing a tall post with two shackles dangling near the top. He laid the sheet neatly on the ground behind the post. 

Malcolm felt his heart stutter in his chest and he stumbled, nearly losing his footing completely as his mind began racing with the possibilities of what was to come. He was out on stage now, looking into the crowd for JT, but the harsh spotlight prevented him from seeing out into the auditorium. 

The guards pulled him to center stage, presenting him to Turner. 

“On his knees,” he ordered, voice pitched low enough that the crowd wouldn’t hear.

Malcolm’s eyes were blown wide with panic as he met Turner’s gaze briefly before the guards positioned him in front of the post and pushed him down. One of them delivered a sharp kick to the back of his knee and his leg buckled. He went down hard, grunting in pain at the impact, chest heaving with each ragged breath as he knelt before the room full of people. 

“This man came here to ruin this organization, to keep you from experiencing all the good that Aegis has in store for you. We fear that he was not acting alone. Speak now, and you’ll both be spared,” Turner offered, turning to rip the tape from Malcolm’s mouth. He grit his teeth against the pain as the tape was ripped free. 

The light wasn’t as bright in his eyes at this height and he was able to make out the faces in the crowd. Most looked shocked, some intrigued. He found JT in the crowd and his heart dropped.  _ You should have left me _ , Malcolm wanted to scream. The cop’s jaw was clenched hard, but he was doing a good job of keeping his face impassive. Malcolm met his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly, trying to convey sentences through just one look.  _ Don’t say anything. Don’t react. Don’t give yourself away. _

Turner grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back, forcing Malcolm to meet his eyes.

“This is your last chance,” he said, loud enough to be heard throughout the room. “I’m trying to be merciful.”

Malcolm snarled. “I told you, I’m not who you think I am. I have nothing else to tell you.”

Turner frowned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He shifted so that his back was to the audience before whispering “I was hoping you’d say that.” He let go of Malcolm’s hair and walked out of his line of sight.

One of the guards cut through the zip tie binding his wrists together, and Malcolm had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out as the blood rushed back into his fingers like a million tiny pin pricks. They brought his arms up, one at a time, to fasten his wrists into the shackles hanging from the post above him. There was some slack, though not enough for him to sit fully back on his haunches. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next. 

Malcolm closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths as panic began to surge within him. He looked out into the crowd once more, finding JT and locking eyes with him. JT’s fists were clenched hard and he was radiating anger and tension but no one seemed to notice. He wasn’t the only one displaying a negative reaction to the display Turner was putting on.

Turner stepped into his line of sight once more, and Malcolm trembled as he caught sight of the snake whip coiled in Turner’s hand.

“Whipping has been used as a form of discipline for centuries and its one we continue using here as well. It provides a reminder of the consequences of betrayal long after the punishment has been completed. I know this may be shocking to most of you, but remember I do this for you, for our community.”

Turner walked behind him and Malcolm twisted, calling out to him. “You don’t have to do this, Turner. You’re making a mistake.” 

The rest of Malcolm’s protests died on his lips as the first strike of the whip bit across his back. He grunted at the impact, but Turner was holding back. It was hard enough to be a shock, but not enough to really hurt. Yet. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d been on the receiving end of a whip, but those had been  _ very  _ different circumstances. They may have prepared him for the initial shock of the first few strikes, but they were nothing compared to what he knew was coming.

The second strike was harder, landing lower on Malcolm’s back than the first. He groaned, grabbing hold of the chains leading to his shackles to hold himself up. The third came fast, striking across the middle of his back. The fourth and fifth followed in quick succession as well, crisscrossing over the same area and Malcolm gasped, twitching away from the blows ineffectively. His breathing was coming in ragged sobs, his hands clenched tight around the chains, head resting against the post in front of him as Turner paused, allowing the tension to build before his next strike. Malcolm moaned, his back feeling as if it was on fire as the pain spread across his whole back.

Malcolm heard the next strike coming a moment before he felt the impact. It was a viciously hard strike that cut through his shirt and bit into the skin over his ribs. He cried out, falling forward, his arms taking the brunt of his weight for a moment as he fought to regain his balance. Turner took advantage and struck again, hard and high up on his shoulder. The tip of the whip curled around the curve of his shoulder and bit into the exposed flesh of his collarbone. Turner yanked back hard and fast and struck again on the other side. Malcolm swore angrily as tears began to stream down his cheeks. 

The whip came again, hard enough to break skin once more, striking low on his back just above his hip and Malcolm screamed, unable to hold back any longer. Turner struck again, a line of stinging pain erupting diagonally across the width of Malcolm’s back, the pain leaving him breathless, his scream turning into a high-pitched whine as he slumped against the post, unable to hold himself up.

“Are you ready for this to end, Mr. Bright? Will you tell me what I need to know?”

“I can’t,” Malcolm moaned desperately. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Please,  _ believe me _ .”

Turner tutted behind him. “That’s not good enough, Mr. Bright. Shall we continue?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of three, and the Bad Things Happen Bingo trope for this chapter is Passing out from Pain. Thanks again to whumpybliss for the prompts that led to this story coming into existence.
> 
> Enjoy!

As soon as Turner starts spewing shit about  _ discipline _ and  _ the greater good, _ JT feels a nervous, a low grade anxiety building in the pit of his stomach as he sits in the auditorium, waiting to see what the hell Turner is talking about. 

Then two men are dragging  _ fucking _ Bright onto the stage and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to react, not to shoot to his feet and rush to his rescue. But at least one of the men dragging Bright is armed, and who knew what other security measures Turner had in place?

He watches intently, trying to take stock of what sort of condition Bright is in. He’s disheveled, jacket missing and shirt hanging loose and open, but JT can’t see any blood or bruising, and, Brights struggling, fighting against them, stubborn as always. JT’s mind is racing. What the hell had Bright gotten himself into this time? Had he asked the wrong question? Stuck his nose where it didn’t belong? Despite the kid’s propensity for attracting danger he wasn’t stupid, and in situations like these _he_ was usually the one who knew all the right things to say. So _what_ _had happened_? 

JT sucks in a sharp breath when Turner reveals the object on the stage, the bottom of his stomach dropping out as he starts to piece together Turner’s intentions. He sees the moment Bright realizes it as well when the profiler stumbles, practically going limp in his captors arms. He looks out into the crowd, his gaze passing right over JT as he squints against the glare of the spotlight in his eyes.

Turner says something, too quiet to reach be heard by the crowd, and then Bright is being forced to his knees in front of the damn _whipping_ _post_ standing center stage and JT can’t actually believe this is happening. Bright looks terrified, the expression on his face one JT has never seen him wear before and it makes his blood boil. In the face of Bright’s helplessness, he feels helpless, too, and it enrages him and terrifies him in equal measure.

The demonstration is clearly a ploy, Turner knows Bright isn’t working alone and is betting on the fact that his partner won’t sit by and watch him being tortured. Bright’s on his knees now, they lock eyes and even though he looks scared as shit JT can practically hear the kid screaming at him through one desperate look-- _ Don’t do it. _ JT hates himself, but he nods once, sitting back in his chair and forcing himself to relax like he’s getting ready to watch a fucking movie, not his friend about to be tortured. He almost shoots right back up when Turner grabs a fistful of Bright’s hair, talking grandly about mercy even though JT can see the anticipation in the man’s eyes all the way from where he’s sitting. 

Several people around him gasp when they start chaining Bright to the post. JT glances around, taking in the reactions of the other people still in the room. Most of them look confused or incredulous, some have realized what’s happening and look shocked, or excited. Many are on the edge of their seats and look ready to flee at a moment’s notice. 

He turns back to the stage to find that Bright is looking at him once more, his chest heaving as he clings to the chains connecting the shackles to the post. He looks small and vulnerable, displayed for all of them to see, arms stretched above his head, back curved because there isn’t enough slack in the chains for him to sit straight. Mostly, Bright looks scared, on the verge of panic and JT finds himself tensing once more, hands curling into fists on his thighs as he clenches his jaw so tightly it pops.

Turner reappears on stage beside Bright with a whip coiled in his hand, and any lingering doubts the crowd has about what is going to take place are erased as he tells them all once more how this is for  _ them _ and for the  _ community _ . All the while Bright’s eyes stay fixed on the whip, blown wide with dreadful anticipation. He looks up at Turner once more, begs him  _ not to do this _ but Turner ignores him.

JT’s seen a lot of things over the course of his life. Between his time in the service and with the NYPD he’s encountered more than his fair share of violence and brutality. But he’s never seen someone being whipped. Not in real life, and certainly not a friend. He’s seen the aftermath of abuse plenty of times, the consequences of violence, but he’s never had to sit by and watch it happen in front of him and he  _ hates it. _ He hates Turner and the two men standing by on the stage and he hates himself for saving his own ass while Malcolm is  _ whipped _ in front of him.

The kid takes it like a champ at first, surprising JT once more. He knows Bright has a high tolerance for pain and that he’s not afraid of getting hurt, but still. It’s a freaking  _ whip _ , and Bright just  _ grunts  _ when it hits. His resolve doesn’t last long, though. He begins to shake, crying out louder with each strike, twisting in his restraints and flinching away from the crack of the whip. Some of the people in the crowd are gasping and crying out, too, their eyes wide. One woman is crying. No one is paying any attention to JT, and if anything, he’s holding himself in check so well that he’s under-reacting, on the outside at least. If he let’s even a little bit of his anger--his fury--out then he won’t be able to contain himself at all.

There’s a pause, Turner’s swishing the whip lightly back and forth in front of him, observing his handiwork as Bright quivers before him, his desperate moan audible throughout the room. Any pretenses of reluctance or regret about this _punishment_ that Turner had been trying to maintain are gone. He’s smiling, clearly enjoying himself as he lets the moment drag on, lets the suspense build before he strikes again.

JT can tell as soon as he pulls his arm back that it's going to be a hard hit. The sound of the whip cracking is so loud it makes him jump, and he knows that Bright’s  _ hurt _ as soon as it strikes. The kid cries out, falling limply forward, no longer able to hold himself up. Turner doesn’t let up and JT can see the tip of the whip where it wraps over Bright’s shoulder and the line of blood that appears where the thin skin over his collarbone is split open. Bright screams when the next strike hits and JT is certain that he’ll never forget that sound, or the way the kid’s face twists in pain. But it's worse when the noise is cut off by the next strike, Bright’s back bowing in agony before he falls forward against the post, mouth open in a soundless scream. 

JT realizes then that he’s crying, too.  _ Damn, damn, damn. _ He has to get out of there. He has a back-up phone hidden deep inside his jacket, an old flip phone he’s hung onto all these years because he’s lost his smartphone enough times to know its always good to bring a spare. He just needs one minute of privacy to make one phone call, but he’s stuck where he is. Any attempt to leave would immediately draw suspicion to him as Bright’s partner. As much as he wished he could end Bright’s suffering, he can’t afford to get caught, too.--not if either of them have any shot at getting out of the mess they’re in.

Turner stops once more and approaches Bright, asks him something that JT can’t hear. Bright shakes his head, responds, eyes desperate and pleading. Turner tuts, steps back, and brings one hand down hard on Bright’s shoulder. Bright cries out weakly, twisting away but Turner tightens his grip.

“Whoever your partner is clearly doesn’t care about you, Mr. Bright,” Turner says, loud enough to be heard throughout the room. “Either he left you behind as soon as he had the chance, or he’s been sitting here, watching you this whole time. I’m not sure which is worse--either way, you obviously can’t trust him to have your back.”

Bright shudders, meets JT’s eyes briefly and shakes his head ever so slightly as if to say ‘don’t listen, it’s not true.’ JT’s vision blurs and he wipes a tear away. Bright has the audacity to look surprised at his emotional response and JT has to look away before he starts to cry harder.  _ You’re breaking my heart, _ he wants to tell the kid.

Turner takes up his place behind Bright once more and Bright starts to shake, tremors running through his whole body as he grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes closed and grips hard enough to the chains that the tendons on his forearms stand out clearly, and JT tenses right along with him.

Turner draws back his arm and strikes, three times in an unhurried, steady rhythm. Bright cries out each time, chest heaving between blows. His skin is glistening, shirt soaked with sweat and blood that’s begun to soak through from the cuts on his back and collarbone. 

Turner delivers a fourth blow in time with the first three, but he steps into it, arm extending fully as he lashes out. The whip hits low and wraps around Bright’s body, the tip cutting into the soft skin of his belly. Bright howls, body collapsing in on itself, and JT can see a strip of red where the whip has cut open the skin. 

He’s halfway out of his seat before he even realizes it, barely catching himself before he’s standing and doing something stupid. Luckily, he’s not the only one who’d had the same reaction. A young woman who looks to be barely out of her teens is standing and rushing towards the door, tears streaming down her face. Two Aegis members step in her path, stopping her physically. She’s crying and yelling, but they remain impassive.

“Turner, wait,” Bright rasps out between sobbing breaths, twisting as well as he can towards Turner. “I’ll talk. I’ll talk just, stop, please.”

JT’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, but he’s relieved to see that Turner listens, coiling the whip in his hand as he approaches Bright once more.

“Had enough, have you? Are you ready to tell me who your partner is?”

“You were right, he’s not here,” Bright says, body slumping in defeat.

“I don’t believe you,” Turner snarls.

“I swear!” Bright whines out, desperation coloring his voice. “I swear it. He left me, and I thought… if I waited… he’d come back. For me.”

Turner looks him over, cruel and calculating in his consideration.

“Fine. Tell me why you came. What does the FBI want with Aegis?”

Bright shakes his head, gazing up at Turner.

“I’ll tell you everything, anything you want to know. Just let me down, and let them go.”

“ _ Them _ ?” Turner repeats, incredulous, and JT is right there with him, jaw dropping at the kids request.

“They shouldn’t have to see this,” Bright explains, barely loud enough to be heard, his eyes flitting towards the crying girl in the back of the room.

JT scoffs--he can’t help it. Bright endures a horrific beating and his main concern is for the strangers who had to watch it.  _ Kid is crazy, I always knew it _ , JT thinks to himself, but in truth he’s never respected Bright more. 

And then it occurs to him that Bright isn’t just trying to spare some poor girl more trauma, he’s giving JT the chance he needs to get them help. If he can get out of this room, he can slip away, and he can call Gil, and he can save Bright.

“Perhaps you’re right, this demonstration has gone on long enough. You are all dismissed, please follow my associates outside,” Turner instructs. 

JT stands along with everyone else and they file quietly from the room, no one speaking as they make their way out into the main hall. JT doesn’t want to leave Bright alone with Turner but he knows he has to--this may be his only chance.

Once in the hall he tracks down one of the Aegis members. “Hey man, I really need to use the restroom. You got one here? I’m not sure how much longer I can wait,” he says.

The man looks unsure for a moment, glancing around like he’s hoping someone else can answer the question, but no one else seems to be available.

“Yes, fine, that’s… I’ll show you. Please follow me.”

He walks away and JT follows obediently to the other side of the room. The man gestures at a door and JT enters, annoyed but not surprised when the guy follows him in. He gives him a look, eyebrow raised as the door closes behind him. 

“You can’t just wait outside?”

“Sorry, its protocol.”

JT shrugs and turns towards the urinals. The guy turns around politely and it's just the opening JT was hoping for. He lunges, wrapping an arm tight around the guy’s neck and pulling him tight against his back in a solid choke hold. The guy tries to fight, scratching at JT’s arm, but the cop has almost 100 pounds and at least 4 inches on the guy. It doesn’t take long for him to pass out. JT sighs in relief, lowering him gently to the floor. He almost feels bad, guesses that this guy had no idea what he was getting into when he showed up at Aegis, like all the rest of them.

He pulls out his old flip phone and powers it on, heart racing as he waits for it to connect to the network. For a moment he fears that they have signal blockers in place, but finally he gets a bar. He dials Gil’s number from memory and his boss picks up on the first ring.

“JT, what the hell is going on?” he demands.

“I don’t know how, but things went to shit. We need an extraction. Possible hostage situation--they got Bright.”

He can hear Gil relaying his message to someone on his end almost as soon as the words leave JT’s mouth, but he stops mid-sentence when JT mentions Bright’s name.

“What do you mean,  _ they got Bright _ ?” 

“I don’t know, boss. I--we got separated. I should never have let him out of my sight. I’m sorry.”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s… hurt. We’ll need a bus. But he’s alive. Just tell those teams to hurry. I’m going to go get him, but we’re going to need help.”

“JT, be careful. I can’t. I need both of you out of there alive, hear me?”

“I know boss. I’ll see you soon.”

JT ends the call and pockets the phone. He doesn’t have any cuffs on him, but he drags the guy into a stall so he is at least out of the line of sight of the door. Then he cracks open the door, peaking out into the main hall, finding it empty. He creeps out and heads back towards the auditorium.

***

Malcolm can’t stop shaking. He watches with tear blurred vision as people exit the auditorium, and his own ragged breathing is the only sound he can hear. It seems as if he's experiencing every type of pain possible all at once: sharp and intense where the last strike of the whip had landed; a deep throbbing pain across the rest of his back; his shoulders aching from the strain of supporting his weight. 

"Turner, I said I'd talk. Let me down, please,' he rasps out. 

"I'm trying to think of a reason why I shouldn't just kill you now," Turner replies.

The shaking stops for a moment as Malcolm's body tenses in fear. That's… not good. He needs to stall, needs to give JT time to figure out their way out here.

"You don't want to do that. My partner may have left, but he'll tell them I'm missing. If I don't check in they'll know something's wrong."

Turner settles on his haunches in front of Bright, looks him over scornfully.

"You aren't leaving here alive. Why delay the inevitable?"

"I can help you! You don't have to do this. I have information that could be useful to you. You don't have to kill me." 

Malcolm's begging, but he doesn't care. He doesn't mean any of it, and he'd just been publicly whipped so maintaining his pride isn't high on his list of priorities.

"Isn't human nature a funny thing? We're programmed to fight for our lives, even when we know it's hopeless." Turner pats Malcolm's cheek and stands. "You’re right, you can still be useful. So I'll let you live, for now. Let him down."

The guards who have been waiting in the wings till now obey immediately. Malcolm collapses to the floor as soon as his wrists are freed, barely managing to catch himself on his forearms before he face plants. The sudden movement pulls at the skin on his back and a burst of pain leaves him gasping for breath, his vision narrowing as the fire spreading across his nerve endings threatens to send him over the edge into unconsciousness.

Turner comes over and grabs his upper arm, pulling him to his feet, and Malcolm groans, knees aching, back burning. Turner drags him towards the edge of the stage and a set of stairs leading down to the main floor.

“Have a seat, Bright. Let’s talk,” he orders, giving Malcolm a little shove forward.

Malcolm stumbles, tries to catch himself but his legs give way beneath him and he tumbles down the first step, falling and landing hard on his back at the bottom. Dimly, he hears someone screaming as his vision goes black, and realizes it’s  _ him _ a moment before he finally passes out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third and final part of this story, and the Bad Things Happen Bingo trope for this chapter is Bedside Vigil. Thanks again to whumpybliss for the prompts that led to this story coming into existence.

JT doesn’t really have a plan, other than Get Bright. He’s unarmed, and while he’s confident he could take any one of the Aegis goonies individually, he isn’t cocky enough to think that he can take on all three at once.

Luck seems to be on his side though. He’s making his way down the hallway that runs alongside the auditorium, hoping it will lead him backstage, when one of the security guards appears in the hall in front of him. The guard startles when he sees him, hand going to his gun. 

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be here,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at JT.

JT holds up his hands innocently but doesn’t stop walking down the hallway. 

“Oh hey, sorry man. I’m just a little lost. I went to the bathroom and the rest of the group left I guess,” he rambles. “You got any idea where they went?”

The guard just stands there, frowning at him, but he relaxes his grip on the gun. “I don’t have time for this, man,” he mumbles to himself before pulling out a short distance radio.

JT waits till the guard brings the radio up to his face to talk, and then makes his move. He lunges forward, striking with the heel of his palm, hitting the radio and slamming it into the man’s face as hard as he can. The guard reels back with a startled cry and JT moves with him, using the man’s own momentum against him. He slips one leg past the guard, tripping him, and hits him again, this time aiming for his neck. The guard makes a strangled, gurgling noise and falls backwards, landing hard on his back. JT doesn’t stop his assault, he follows the man down and slams his elbow into the man’s face, driving his head back into the floor at the same time and knocking him unconscious. 

JT grabs the man’s gun and radio and continues down the hall.  _ One down, two to go _ , he thinks to himself, and now he has a weapon. He’s never been a shoot ‘em up, go in with guns blazing type of cop, but there is something about having a gun shoved in your face that tends to make people a little more cooperative.

There’s a single door at the end of the hall and he pushes it open carefully, gun at the ready as he walks out into the wings of the stage. Bright’s gone, no longer chained to the whipping post, and so is Turner. The second guard is still on stage though, facing out towards the auditorium. JT stalks forward, as quiet and careful as he can, but the man must catch the movement out of the corner of his eye because he turns, eyes widening and hand going for his weapon.

“Don’t do it!” JT calls out, rushing forward now that stealth isn’t an issue. 

The man hesitates for an instant, looks like he might actually listen, but goes for his gun, pulling it clear of the holster. JT shoots him, square in the chest. It's quick, instinctive, and as soon as he sees the man fall he turns his attention to the rest of the room to look for Bright.

The profiler is on his knees next to the stage, leaning against the stairs. He’s clearly out of it, his eyes are glossy and unfocused, and he’s swaying slightly. Turner’s standing next to him and as soon as JT turns towards them he grabs Bright by the arm and hauls him up, keeping the kid in front of him, using him as a human shield. He hooks an arm under the kid’s arm, wrapping it around his chest, forced to hold him up as Bright sags against him, hissing in pain. 

JT’s a good shot, but Turner’s got his body angled sideways, his head right next to Bright’s, and it's not worth the risk. He’s not going anywhere, not unless he plans on dragging Bright’s limp body along with him.

“It’s over, Turner. This place is going to be crawling with cops any second. You’re not getting out of this.”

JT makes his way towards the stairs, steps slow but steady as he keeps his gun trained on Turner, trying to get a better angle in case he has to take the shot.

Turner backs away. Bright’s legs aren’t really working, he’s upright but his feet are dragging. He might be a small guy but eventually he’ll start to get heavy. JT just needs to wait Turner out. He starts down the stairs. He can’t shoot him, but once he’s close enough there’s plenty of other options for taking him down that won’t endanger Bright.

Turner takes a couple more steps backwards, angling himself so he’s standing in the aisle with a clear path to the door. JT can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs his options, eyes flitting around the room, towards JT and away again.

“What’s your play here, Turner? You just gonna drag him around with you? How far do you think you’ll get? This place is going to be crawling with cops any second now, and they’re way more likely to shoot first and ask questions later. Just let Bright go, this doesn’t have to end badly for you. ”

Turner scoffs at that, but he knows it's true, JT can see it in his eyes. He’s close now, just a couple of feet separating them now, and Turner finally gives up, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Fine, okay, you want him so badly, you can have him,” he says with a snarl. 

Turner shoves Bright forward, sends him stumbling towards JT, and the cop has to lower his gun just to keep Bright from running right into it. He catches the kid, keeps him from falling, lowering him gently. Bright clings to him, he’s shaking, breathing hard and sweating. 

“Hey Bright, you with me?” JT asks as he settles the kid into a sitting position, supporting his upper body and trying his best not to touch his back. 

Bright nods, blinking rapidly and looking over to meet JT’s gaze, offering a tired, pained grimace that is probably supposed to be reassuring but really isn’t.

“I’m great,” he mumbles. “What about Turner?”

JT scowls. “He won’t get far. Back-ups on its way, they’ll get him. There’s no way I’m leaving you alone again, anyways. I don’t even want to think about what other trouble you’d get yourself into.”

Bright chuckles though it turns into a groan. He looks like he might reply, but then he slumps forward, eyes slipping closed as his head lolls to the side and he goes limp in JT’s arms. 

“Shit,” JT mutters, “Bright, come on man, wake up.” He gives the kid’s face a few light slaps, shakes him gently once, but Bright doesn’t respond. 

JT swears again, pulling out his phone to check on the status of their back-up. Suddenly, there’s a commotion at the other end of the room and the doors burst open. JT startles, reaching for the gun beside him on instinct before his brain processes what’s happening.

Several cries of ‘drop it’ ring out through the room and he complies as realization sets in. He’s not at all interested in getting shot by his own back-up.

“I’m a cop!” he calls out. “Detective Tarmel, Major Crimes. We’re going to need medical in here!”

The officers spread throughout the room and two come up to the front where JT and Bright are sitting. They’ve got their guns up still and don’t fully relax until they’ve secured the weapon that’s laying next to JT. 

Everything’s a blur after that. JT answers questions, gives a preliminary statement, but he doesn’t leave Bright’s side, staying seated on the ground next to the kid as they wait for the medics. They arrive quickly after the room has been cleared, pushing a stretcher between them, and moments later Gil follows them in. 

“Jesus, what the hell happened?” One of the medics asks as they carefully situate Bright on the stretcher. “Was he whipped?”

“Yeah,” JT says but he can barely get it out, memories of the kid’s screams replaying in his mind. “He uh, he passed out a few minutes ago. I don’t think he has any other injuries, but I might be wrong.” He glances at Gil, wonders if he’ll see the blame he feels inside reflected in the older man’s eyes.

Gil doesn’t say anything, just watches closely as the medics work, taking in every bloodstain and wound. Bright’s shirt is still mostly intact, covering the majority of the damage, but what’s visible is indication enough of the hell the kid’s been through.

As soon as the medics have Bright safely loaded on the stretcher they roll him away and JT starts to follow. A firm hand on his arm stops him and he turns to see Gil shaking his head. “Not now. We’ll go to the hospital after this, but first you need to tell me what the hell happened here,” he demands.

JT sighs, rubs a hand over his face as he collects his thoughts. He’s tired, suddenly. The adrenaline rush from early has faded, leaving him shaky and exhausted. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but Gil deserves to know. He drops into one of the theater style chairs and Gil follows suite, waiting patiently for JT to begin.

“Honestly, I don’t really know. Somehow, the kid got made. One minute we were walking in here, the next he’s gone. Then, they bring him out on stage and Turner decides to use the kid as some sort of example of what happens to people who mess with these guys,” JT explains, and he gestures at the post on the stage. Gil follows the movement with his eyes and JT watches as several emotions pass over his face in quick succession. Confusion, understanding, disgust, anger. 

“You were there when he… when Turner?” Gil begins, but he can’t seem to finish the thought, to put the horrible idea into words. 

JT grunts. “Not just me. A whole room full of people. Turner is a messed up dude, boss.”

Gil’s face twists into a snarl of rage, there and gone. “How bad?” he asks. 

JT’s brows furrow as he thinks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Turner knew what he was doing. He. He wasn’t trying to kill him. Just hurt him, make an example of him. Bright-- the kids tough. Too tough, maybe.”

Gil snorted. “Yeah. He doesn’t know when to quit.”

“Boss, I’m…” JT begins, but Gil holds up a hand.

“Don’t even think about saying it. This was not your fault. Whatever happened, however Bright got caught. None of it is your fault.”

“But I just sat there and watched, let Turner  _ hurt _ him, and I did nothing.”

“You called for help. You got him out of there. If you’d been caught that may have never happened. You know that, and Bright does too.”

JT nods. He  _ does _ know it, in his head. But then he remembers Bright’s screams and it doesn’t matter what he knows, he still  _ feels _ horrible.

An officer approaches them and JT looks up in silent acknowledgement. “Detective Tarmel, we need to get an official statement.”

“Now?” JT grumbles.

“If you don’t mind.”

Gil keeps shooting impatient glances towards the door, and JT knows the man is itching to follow Bright to the hospital. JT is itching to leave too, but he knows that won’t be an option for a while.

“Go, boss. You should be there when he wakes up.”

Gil looks like he’s about to argue, but then he nods. “Thanks, JT. Hurry over, he’ll want to see you, too.”

JT nods, and Gil leaves.

***

It takes longer than JT thought it would. He gets his phone back, and Gil texts him updates about Bright’s condition. He’s conscious, he needs stitches, but he’ll be fine. He’d passed out from shock, and pain, but there doesn’t seem to be any additional damage done. He’s sleeping.

JT heads to the hospital anyways. It’s late, but for some reason he feels the need to be there, to see with his own eyes that Bright is okay.

Gil meets him in the waiting room and leads down the hallway. “Visiting hours are over, but I promised we’d be on our best behaviour, although if we wake him up the charge nurse might kill us both,” he tells JT in hushed tones.

Bright’s room is near the end of the hall, and the lights are off but the light from the hall is enough for JT to see by. He’s laying on his front, head turned away from the door, shirtless, but covered by a light sheet up to his shoulders and JT can see the edges of several bandages covering his upper back as well. He seems to be sleeping peacefully, his back rising and falling steadily with each breath.

“Did you talk to him?” JT asks quietly. He takes a few steps back down the hall so he and Gil can talk without worrying about waking Bright.

Gil nods. “For a little while. Enough to get his side of the story.” Gil pauses, lets out a breath in an exasperated huff. “Apparently, Turner’s head enforcer is a former LEO from D.C. He recognized Bright from his time in the FBI. Bright tried to convince them that he wasn’t with the Bureau anymore but they didn’t buy it. They wanted to know why he was there, and who he was with.”

JT shakes his head. “Damn kid. If it can go wrong, it will for him, huh?”

Gil chuckles, but it's sad, empty. “He’s a strong kid. Has to be.”

“He’s a self-sacrificing idiot,” JT mutters, but there’s no malice behind the words. 

Gil raises an eyebrow, tilting his head in confusion.

JT glances back in at the sleeping man, gathering his thoughts as he remembers the way Bright had been focused on everyone but himself throughout the whole ordeal. He’s not surprised that Bright hadn’t mentioned that little detail to Gil, but Gil deserves to know. 

“He never gave me up, obviously. Turner told us--everyone in the room--that if his partner spoke up, it’d all be over. Bright looked right at me, told me no. He didn’t say it, but I could see it in his eyes. He knew what was coming, but he never said a word. Then, when the kid finally does speak, he asks Turner to let the rest of us go,” JT recalls, his incredulity as strong now as it had been in the moment.

“What?” Gil exclaims.

“Oh yeah. Some girl in the crowd lost it, tried to run but they made her stay, keep watching. That’s when Bright finally broke, made up some shit about his partner leaving already. He got Turner to stop, let everyone leave, said that we shouldn’t have to watch.”

Gil’s shaking his head, hands on hips as he looks back at Bright’s room in disbelief. “Of course he did. He’s a good kid.”

JT nods. He hadn’t seen it at first. When he first met Bright, they’d clashed heads more often than not. Bright was irreverent with disregard for rules and regulations that got under JT’s skin. All JT could see was the spoiled white rich boy who’d been too smart for his own good. The kid had been growing on him, though, and the more he got to know Bright, the more he understood the reasons behind his erratic behavior.

Gil claps a hand on JT’s shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “I’m glad you were there for him today,” he says quietly.

JT scoffs. “Lot of good it did.”

“You got him out, you both came home and that’s what matters. You did what you had to, and that takes courage, too.”

JT nods, throat inexplicably tight.

“I’m heading home. You should get some sleep too. I expect you back at work in the morning,” Gil tells him.

“Sure thing, boss. I’ll uh, I’ll head home soon.”

Gil leaves, but JT doesn’t. Instead, he slips back into Bright’s room, taking a seat on a cheap chair in the corner. It's not comfortable, but he finds himself relaxing all the same. The events of the day are starting to catch up with him as he allows himself to finally relax, and he finds himself watching Bright and the rhythmic up and down motion of his body as he breathes starts to lull JT into a mindless haze. He hasn’t thanked Bright yet, or told him that he did a good job. He can’t bring himself to leave yet, it feels too much like he’d be abandoning the kid all over again. 

JT doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until he’s startled awake by a muted cry, loud in the late night quiet of the room. He looks around in confusion for a moment before realizing the noises are coming from Bright. The kid’s no longer sleeping soundly; he’s twitching and moaning, the movements growing more and more violent by the moment. 

JT hasn’t witnessed one of Bright’s night terrors for himself, but he’s heard enough about them to realize that must be what’s happening now. He hurries to Bright’s side, turning on the light as he goes, rounding the bed so he can see the kid’s face and crouching down beside him.

“Bright, come on man, wake up,” he urges, shaking his shoulder lightly. 

He doesn’t respond, instead he starts to thrash even harder and JT begins to worry that he’ll pull his stitches out.

“Bright, come on, you gotta wake up, man. It’s just a dream,” he urges, shaking him harder. 

Bright’s brows are pinched, his expression haggard as he whimpers at the touch and flinches away. JT frowns, searching for a call button to ring for help but he doesn’t see one. He’s about to go look for a nurse when Bright flinches so hard he nearly throws himself off the bed. He cries out, clearly in pain, and his eyelids flutter but don’t open. JT curses and stands, leaning over the bed to clamp down on both of Bright’s biceps, trying to hold him still without hurting him further.

“Damn it, Bright, I hate to do this, but…” he mutters, then slaps him. It isn’t gentle but it also isn’t hard enough to leave a mark, and it does the job. Bright’s eyes fly open and he cries out once more, a pitiful ‘no’ that breaks JT’s heart just a little. He crouches down once more, trying to meet the kid’s eyes.

“Bright, hey, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital, alright?”

Bright blinks rapidly, eyes rolling wildly until they finally focus on JT and he stills. He tries to lift his head but quickly gives up, wincing at the effort.

“What happened?” he asks.

“You were having a nightmare, nearly fell out of bed. You’re lucky you didn’t tear any stitches.”

Bright grimaces. “Feels like I did.”

“Does it hurt? Should I get the nurse?” JT asks.

“No. I’m fine. I mean, it hurts, but it's fine.”

JT looks at him skeptically. 

“Really. I’m fine, and… they’ll want to sedate me, and I can’t--” he trails off.

“Would that be a bad thing?” JT asks.

“I have to be able to wake up. If I can’t wake up, it’s like I’m trapped in my own mind.”

JT shakes his head. “That’s messed up, dude.”

Bright frowns, hurt flashing in his eyes, there and gone, and JT backtracks. “Not, I don’t mean. It’s messed up that, after everything that happened, you can’t even get the rest you need. I didn’t mean  _ you _ . I just meant this situation.” 

He’s rambling, feels bad and doesn’t want Bright to think he’s judging him or his problems. He’s trying to be sympathetic, he’s just shit at it.

Bright smiles slightly as JT trails off. “It’s fine, I get it. And you’re right, it’s messed up, and I’m messed up.”

“Seriously though, man. You need to sleep, but if you’re gonna be dreaming like that, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Then, I just won’t sleep. Won’t be the first time.”

“Not an option. There’s going to be all sorts of people in here asking you questions tomorrow. You really want to do that with no sleep?”

Bright huffs in annoyance. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“You sleep. I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“What?”

“I’ll stay here, and if you start rolling around like a maniac, I’ll slap you again.”

“Again?” 

“Go to sleep, Bright. I’ll make sure you wake up.”

Bright seems unconvinced, but his eyes are starting to close and he finally nods in agreement, settling down into the bed once more and closing his eyes for good.

JT returns to his chair in the corner, folds his arms over his chest and leans back. He dozes again, but never deep enough that he can’t hear when Bright starts dreaming once more. It happens twice, and both times JT is able to wake Bright easily, and the kid falls right back to sleep.

A nurse comes in at some point when JT’s awake, and he’s afraid she’ll kick him out. “You a cop, too?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers. “He’s my partner.” It’s not really a lie, at least not today.

“Let us know if he needs anything, alright?” is all the nurse says before leaving, and JT is grateful. 

He feels better now that he’s seen Bright, talked to him even. He could tell the nurse about the dreams, ask them to keep an eye on the kid, tell them about the sedatives, and go home to his wife. But he doesn’t. Tally understands, and he wants to be here for Bright, tonight. He couldn’t stop him from getting hurt, but he can protect him now. He’s willing to give up one night of sleep if it means Bright gets one in return.

He stays all night, keeping watch until the doctor comes and kicks him out. By then its morning, and JT needs to leave anyways if he’s going to shower and change before going back to work. He catches sight of Jessica Whitly as he’s leaving and decides it's definitely time to head home. Bright’s in good hands, and there’s no doubt in JT’s mind that the kid will be back at the precinct as soon as he can walk.

“Damn kid,” he mutters to himself as he starts his car, shaking his head all the way home as he thinks about the stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot who’d somehow grown on him in spite of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my butt. I don't know why, I just had a hard time getting it out, but here it is! Hopefully its an acceptable ending to the story, and there's enough comfort here to offset all the whump and hurt in the first parts. Thanks for reading, as always!


End file.
